The Star Spangled Intersect
by Notorious JMG
Summary: Chuck has disappeared. Sarah has been drugged. What happened, and where's Chuck?
1. Where Did I Go Wrong

_At the suggestion of some of my readers, I've decided to put all my crossover fics on hold and write something that's purely a Chuck fic. This first chapter went a totally different direction than I had intended, and it is considerably darker than I had planned. Nonetheless._

* * *

Ellie wasn't quite sure when she first realized something was wrong.

Maybe it was the stillness of the apartment when she got home from the overnight shift. Maybe it was nothing at all.

But there was definitely something wrong.

"Chuck?"

No answer.

"Chuck, are you awake?"

Maybe he was in the shower. But no, she couldn't hear any water running. Then a thought hit her –

Maybe he had slipped and hurt himself in the shower. The doctor in her spurred her into action. She burst through his bathroom door –

Empty. Nobody.

She peered around the door into his bedroom. Nobody. Empty. Bed looking like he had just woken up, clothes strewn about, his Buy More outfit draped over the back of his chair.

Ellie was getting very concerned. She opened the medicine cabinet in his bathroom.

Everything was there. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shave gel, razor, hair gel, CK One –

_Since when does my brother wear that?_

She pushed the irrelevant thought from her head. It was as if Chuck had just disappeared.

Ellie went back into his bedroom. His computer was in sleep mode, his iPhone still attached to it. Unplugging it from the computer, she scrolled through the call list. Nothing she could see that might've made him just up and leave in the middle of the night.

She scrolled to Morgan and hit the talk button. It rang, and rang. No answer. She tried Sarah next. Same result. She left her a message, asking her to call as soon as she got it.

Ellie went back to the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed Devin. "Yo," he answered.

With no preamble, she said, "Can you check around and see if Chuck's been admitted to the hospital, or to any of the others in the area?"

"Babe, what's up?"

"He's not in the apartment. It's as if he just disappeared."

"Did you call Morgan or Sarah?"

"Yeah. No answer from either of them."

"Did you check with John? He might know."

"No, I haven't yet, but I probably should."

"Okay, babe, you do that. I'll check on hospitals."

Ellie's composure was starting to unravel. "Okay," she forced out, her voice breaking.

"Hey, babe, listen. I'm sure Chuck's okay. He's a good man. He knows how to take care of himself."

Ellie just nodded. "I'll talk to you later, babe. Love you," she heard, and then the phone disconnected with a click.

Taking a deep breath, she collected herself. Crossing to the door, she walked out of the apartment and across the courtyard to John Casey's apartment. She knocked on the door, and waited. Knocked again. No answer.

Slowly, Ellie turned back to her apartment. Returned to the apartment. Picked up the phone again. She knew she should wait. She knew she was supposed to wait twenty-four hours. But something just seemed so terribly wrong.

She dialed.

"Los Angeles Police Department, Rampart Division. How may I direct your call?"

"Yes… I need to file a missing persons report."

* * *

"GRIMES!"

The unmistakable voice of an angry, hulking black man echoed across the Buy More. Customers looked up in surprise, then returned to their shopping.

"GRIMES!"

Morgan sprinted across the store, trying to get to Big Mike before he could yell again.

"GRI- oh, there you are. Where the hell is Bartowski?"

"What?"

"Are you deaf? WHERE THE HELL IS BARTOWSKI?"

Across the store, the head of another Buy More associate perked up. John Casey's ears had caught Big Mike's demand.

He started making his way across the store to where Big Mike and Morgan stood.

"I don't know," Morgan said. "I haven't seen him this morning – I thought maybe he'd called in sick. I haven't heard from him, and he's not answering his phone."

"No call," Big Mike rumbled. "This ain't like his ass. What the hell is going on?"

Casey reached them at that point. "Did you say that Bartowski isn't here? And you haven't heard from him?"

"That's what I said. What business is it of yours, exactly?"

"Never mind."

Casey stalked off, went into the home theatre lounge, and pulled out his phone. He dialed Chuck. Rang several times, no answer. Next call.

Rang several times, no answer. He tried the land line.

Finally, after that had rung ten times, it was answered.

"'lo?"

"Walker?"

"'sey? What's goin' on?"

"Is your cell phone on?"

"Yesss…"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hangover, I think…"

"Do you have any missed calls?"

He heard her slowly shuffling around in the background.

"Uhh… Chuck… 'bout twenty minutes 'go…"

Casey's eyes widened. "Did he leave a message?"

"Jus' a minute…"

A moment later, she came back on the line. She still sounded under the influence, but a certain coherent edge had entered her voice.

"That was actually Ellie calling me from Chuck's phone. She asked me to call her as soon as I could."

"Walker, listen to me. Chuck didn't show up for work today."

There was silence.

"Walker?"

"Sorry… I tried to get out of bed… I'm having trouble walking."

"What the hell did you drink last night?"

"Not now, Casey. Listen. I need you to come over here, pick me up, and then we need to go to Chuck's apartment."

"I'm on my way. I'll call the director."

"No! I think that's a bad plan."

"We shouldn't tell our superiors that we think there's a problem with Chuck?"

He heard the sigh from the other end. "What if they're involved?"

Casey hadn't considered that. "Shit."

He looked around, made eye contact with Morgan, gave him the "come hither" sign. "Alright, I'll get out of here. I'll be at your place in ten."

He disconnected as Morgan reached him. "What's up, Casey?"

"I'm gonna go look for Chuck," Casey said. "I need you to cover for me, and I need you to not tell Big Mike that I'm looking for Chuck."

"It's gonna cost you, John," Morgan smarmed.

Casey rolled his eyes. "There'll be a pallet of grape soda in your apartment when you get home."

"You got yourself a deal!"

* * *

Casey's retired cop car rolled to a stop behind a very active cop car in front of his apartment complex. It was one of several sitting in the street, lights flashing.

"This does not look good," he muttered.

"You think?" Sarah shot back, eyes hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses.

Casey didn't reply, just got out of the car. He helped Sarah out, and walked with her to the door of the Bartowski apartment.

When they entered, they were greeted by the sight of a red-eyed Ellie Bartowski, sitting on the couch, Devin's arms around her. She was being questioned by a pair of plainclothes LAPD detectives.

Her eyes widened when she saw Sarah. "Sarah! Oh, thank God you're here!" she cried, leaping from the couch, wrapping Sarah in a hug that almost toppled her.

"Easy, there," Casey warned, catching the two women before Sarah lost her balance.

As Ellie sniffed a little and backed away, Devin rose from the couch, approaching Sarah. "Are you feeling okay, Sarah?" he asked.

"Just a hangover," she insisted.

"Are you sure? Your skin is awfully pallid, and you almost fell over just there – let me see your eyes."

Without warning, he reached out and pulled off Sarah's sunglasses. She tried to squint. "Open your eyes wide, Sarah," Devin said, shading her eyes with his hand.

He stared into her eyes for a moment. "Bloodshot is normal for a hangover, but…"

He removed his hand from her forehead. "Lack of dilation is not."

Devin's hand went back to her forehead. "You're running a temperature, too…"

His hand pulled away again, and the switch from dark to light and back repeatedly just got to be too much for Sarah. Without a word, she staggered to the kitchen, and vomited in the sink.

Devin shook his head. "There's something wrong," he said. "A hangover shouldn't fix her pupils and give her a temperature."

"What are you saying?" Casey asked, a note of concern entering his voice.

"I'm saying that I want her to get in my car so I can take her down to the hospital and do some tests," Devin replied.

Sarah came back out of the kitchen, looking incredibly weak and unsure of her footing. "No… Devin… you can't leave Ellie…"

By this point, though, Ellie had gone into doctor mode. "No, Sarah, Devin's right. I'll be okay. I want you to go to the hospital with him."

One of the LAPD detectives finally spoke. "Dr. Bartowski, I think we've asked you all the questions we need to about your brother… but I do need to ask, do you think that we're going to need to talk to your friend here?"

Devin answered for her. "I would say that you're almost certainly going to need to talk to her."

* * *

As soon as they had walked in the door of the E.R. at City of Angels Medical Center, Sarah had been loaded onto a gurney. Devin had started calling out orders left and right, and within minutes, he was in an exam room with Sarah. Ellie and Casey had come with them, as had the two Rampart detectives.

"Your blood tests are back," said an orderly, walking into the room and handing Devin a printout. It had been the first thing he'd ordered on entering the hospital – a vial of Sarah's blood had been drawn, and had been sent for tests.

Devin looked at the sheet, and his face darkened. "Goddammit," he muttered.

"What?" Ellie looked at him, concerned.

Devin's voice was tight as he said one word. "Rohypnol."

Ellie and Casey's eyes widened, the detectives pulled out notepads, and even Sarah took notice, forcing herself up onto her elbows.

"There's no way Chuck could've…"

"It couldn't have been Bartowski…"

"He wouldn't know where to get it!"

"I'd know if he'd gotten something like that…"

"Hey."

The weak interjection from Sarah caused everybody to take notice. "It wasn't Chuck. You're right, he wouldn't have known where to get it."

She paused, trying to form the right sentence. "He wouldn't have needed it."

Devin shook his head. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved or even more concerned."

He crossed to the wall, picked up the phone.

"I need a rape kit in E47."


	2. I Lost a Friend

He felt like he was swimming upward through a mud puddle toward the sunlight.

Finally, he reached the top.

His eyes cracked open. He felt like a ton of sand was stuck in them.

Chuck brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed the guck and crap out of them, wiping it away.

"Dammit," he muttered, his head pounding. Then, he realized something was wrong.

He was not in his bedroom. He didn't remember getting here, either. The last thing he remembered was the Viper Room. Jack Johnson on stage. And now…

"Where the hell am I?"

He sat up slowly, taking in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the nightstand. A glass of water, and two Advil cold and sinus. A note.

_Mr. __Bartowski__ – Take these. You'll feel better quickly._

So he did. No immediate effect, but he hadn't expected it.

He looked around more. King size bed. Comfortable one, at that. All white linens. In fact, the whole room was white. The sofa halfway across the room was white. The refrigerator in the corner was white.

He got up and slowly staggered to the refrigerator, pulling it open. Water, Mountain Dew, Coke, Red Bull. Snacks. Stuff he enjoyed. Pretty well stocked.

There was a white sixty-inch plasma TV hanging from the wall, a white cabinet below it. He opened the cabinet – all his DVDs. A Blu-Ray player. A PS3 and a Wii with all his games.

"Goddammit," he muttered. "Tell me I'm not where I think I am."

Chuck went back to the refrigerator, pulled out a Red Bull, collapsed on the couch. He picked up the remote, turned on the TV.

The image of General Beckman appeared on the screen, facing away. As if she was alerted to the fact that the television had been turned on, she turned to face Chuck.

"Mr. Bartowski. Good morning."

Chuck didn't say anything, just stared.

"I trust you're comfortable?"

He still didn't say a word, raising his Red Bull in response.

"I'm sorry about the measures we had to take to get you here. Agent Walker managed to severely injure two NSA agents before we were able to extract you."

Chuck's eyes widened at Sarah's name.

"She'll be fine, Bartowski."

He crossed his arms, but still didn't speak.

"By the way, your family and friends are quite efficient. They've already reported you missing to the LAPD, and your sister and her fiancé have already gotten Agent Walker to City of Angels for a rape examination."

Chuck's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes went wide. He finally spoke.

"You fucking bitch."

"Do calm yourself, Bartowski. We wouldn't subject one of our own agents to that simply to extract an asset."

Chuck went silent once more.

"Do you have nothing else to say, Bartowski? Or is that it? Calling me a 'fucking bitch'?"

He said nothing. Then, slowly, and purposefully, he raised both hands, and extended both of his middle fingers.

General Beckman cocked an eyebrow. Chuck lowered his hands, picked up the remote, and turned off the television.

* * *

Ellie came out of the exam room into the waiting area. "She wasn't raped," she informed Devin, Casey, and the detectives.

"No sign of it?" one of the detectives asked.

"No."

"So whoever administered the Rohypnol probably did so in order to disable her so that they could abduct your brother," the other detective mused.

"Can we question Ms. Walker now?" the first detective requested.

"Actually, can I speak with both of you a moment?" Casey interrupted.

He pulled the two detectives over to a corner of the waiting area and spoke with them quietly. After a moment, one of them said, "Alright, I understand."

They walked back over to Ellie. The one who had spoken to Casey said, "Ms. Bartowski, we'll be in touch regarding your brother. We may have to involve the FBI."

She nodded. "Please, do whatever you have to," she replied quietly.

As the detectives left, Devin said, "I think we should go in and talk to Sarah a moment. John, you too."

With a puzzled look on his face, Casey walked in to Sarah's exam room with Ellie. Devin walked in behind them, shut the door, and locked it.

"Alright," he began. "I think it's time for the truth."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow," Casey said.

"You're not a Buy More salesman. Sarah's not a fast-food cashier. I think it's about time that the two of you told us what the hell is going on and what it has to do with Chuck."

Sarah looked at Casey. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, but she just shrugged.

"This all started on September 25th of last year," she started.

For the next fifteen minutes, she told a shocked Ellie and Devin the story of the last five months. Casey would occasionally interject a comment.

"And that's pretty much the whole story," Sarah finally finished.

"Yeah, except that the CIA wasn't counting on their agent to come out here and fall for the asset," Casey grumbled.

Sarah looked daggers at Casey, but Ellie cracked a small smile. "I knew you really did truly like Chuck," she said quietly.

Sarah sighed the sigh of a defeated woman. "I… I guess I really do," she answered with a shrug. "Unfortunately, that turns out to be a liability sometimes – like last night, when we were supposed to be identifying a target. When it turned out he wasn't at the night club we were at, we decided to stay – just for fun. I wouldn't have done that with any other asset, but Chuck…"

She paused a moment. "I can't look at him and just see an asset anymore. He's a person. He's… an incredible man. I've never known anybody else like him. I look at him, and I see the life I could have. I…"

Sarah stopped. She had almost said something she didn't know if she was entirely sure of, but the more she thought about it, the more sure of it she became.

"I could see myself very happily spending the rest of my life with him."

Casey groaned. "Oh, for God's sake, Walker."

"Hey, I think it's pretty awesome," Devin rebuked him.

"And yet, I'm entirely unsurprised. By both of you," Casey continued. "First of all, you think everything's awesome, Devin. And Sarah, I could see it on your face that very first night on the helipad."

Sarah didn't say anything. She didn't confirm it. She didn't deny it. In fact, as they watched, her eyes started to brim with tears, and they began to roll quickly down her face. Her face crumpled as she was overcome by guilt for letting Chuck be taken and fear that she might not ever see him again.

* * *

The door opened. Chuck looked up from the bed. He had laid down after his "talk" with General Beckman, and had just stared at the ceiling.

Two men entered the room, one with an M-16, one with a tray of food. In fact, it smelled a lot like McDonald's.

But that wasn't what interested Chuck. No, it was the open door that interested him. He got up, and walked toward the door.

"Freeze, Mr. Bartowski," the armed one said, as the M-16 swung toward him.

"Please," Chuck replied. "I'm a priceless government asset. If you shoot me, you'll be spending the rest of your life cleaning toilets in Greenland."

The agent hesitated, and Chuck walked out the door.

He had gotten no more than fifty feet down the hall, when a group of agents, accompanied by Director Graham, no less, appeared to block his path. One of the agents held a syringe.

"Oh, come on. You're going to drug me?" Chuck asked.

"If we have to," Director Graham replied.

"You mean, like you drugged Sarah?"

Graham looked at him curiously. "How did you know about that?"

"General Beckman told me that my sister had done a rape exam on Sarah, but she personally assured me that no harm had come to her. Therefore, I can only assume that somebody slipped Sarah a roofie to knock her out while you people extracted me."

Graham was quiet for a long moment. "You've got quite the mind there, Bartowski, beyond just the Intersect. So, it would be a shame for us to have to potentially damage it with sedatives."

"Oh, there'll be no need for sedatives," Chuck replied. "I'll go back to my cell without protest. I just need to do one thing first."

"And what's that?"

Without warning, Chuck's foot swung upward. His Converse-clad right foot slammed into Director Graham's crotch at a rather high rate of speed. Graham's eyes bulged, he clasped his hands to his groin, and he collapsed to the ground, doing his best not to gag.

Chuck leaned over him just a little bit. "THAT was for kidnapping me, for drugging Sarah, and for likely scaring the shit out of my family and friends."

And with that, he executed an about-face, strode back to his cell, and slammed the door shut behind him.


	3. Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

Big Mike was aggravated.

It was not advisable to aggravate Big Mike. He often broke things when he was aggravated.

Right now, his wrath was directed toward the Nerd Herd. Jeff and Lester were busy trying to avoid him, while whining about how unfair it was that they were being targeted for their supervisor's indiscretion.

Anna was too busy with Morgan in the break room to care. Nobody wanted to go anywhere near the break room.

As Big Mike sat stewing in his office, a beeping sounded from the fax machine. Big Mike turned and growled at it.

Instead of growling back, the fax machine simply spat out a piece of paper. Big Mike grabbed it.

_Big Mike – sorry I didn't call you. I had to go out of town unexpectedly. I need to take a few days off, but I'll be back as soon as possible. – Chuck __Bartowski_

"What the hell, boy!" Big Mike yelled. He looked for a phone number in the fax header, to see if he could figure out where Bartowski was – no such luck; it was just XXX-XXX-XXXX. "Damn!"

"GRIMES!" he shouted, bursting out of his office like a small hurricane. "GRIMES, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

He threw open the door to the break room – and his eyes nearly burst out of his head.

"Oh, that's not right," Big Mike whined. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

* * *

Ellie, Devin, Sarah, and Casey finally left the hospital just after four o'clock. All four turned their cell phones on as soon as they exited the hospital.

Shortly thereafter, Ellie's and Sarah's phones both beeped, announcing new voicemails. Ellie held her phone to her ear to hear the new voicemails; Sarah used her iPhone to read the voicemail.

Ellie's face broke into a huge smile as Sarah's face creased in concern. Sarah hit the voicemail button and pressed her phone to her ear as Ellie started talking.

"I had voicemails from Chuck and Morgan," she announced. "Chuck just wanted to let me know he's okay, and Morgan was calling to say that a letter requesting a brief leave of absence was faxed to the Buy More."

"That's fantastic!" Sarah said, trying to be enthusiastic. "I got a voicemail from Chuck, too. I guess he's okay."

Sarah waited to get into the car as Ellie and Devin got in. "What is it, Walker?" Casey asked, noticing her reticence to get in.

"Somebody's doing a very good fake job," Sarah replied. "Back when Chuck and I first met, I taught him some code phrases to say every time he was on the phone with me, even if the message was completely unrelated to a mission. Some phrases say he's okay, some say he's under duress."

"Was there a duress code in there?"

"No. There were none of the codes at all. It wasn't Chuck."

* * *

General Beckman had just about had it with Chuck Bartowski.

He was being such a pain in her ass, it wasn't even funny. The fact that he had called her a "fucking bitch" and then kicked Director Graham in the groin aside, he was making her life miserable.

After disabling Director Graham, he'd gone back to his cell. He had taken the McDonald's hamburger he'd been brought, took the patty, and rubbed it all over the doorknob, turning it into a greasy mess. The Army guards who brought him his dinner later had discovered this the hard way, not being able to get a grip on the door to open it when they tried to leave.

Chuck had then gone on another crotch-kicking spree, taking down two US Army soldiers, taking one of their M-16s, and getting the doorknob open by wrapping his hand in one of their berets. Beckman swore she was going to insist on all male visitors to Bartowski's cell wearing protective cups.

But then it got worse. No, he didn't take the M-16 out into the facility and go postal. Rather, he had just walked up and down the hallway outside his cell, firing short bursts into rather expensive electronic equipment, and making it quite clear to the surveillance mikes that he was going to continue to do so every ten seconds, unless…

Unless he got a copy of _Guitar Hero_.

So they got him a copy of _Guitar Hero_. Unfortunately, by the time they got it to him, he'd caused almost $200,000 worth of damage.

So what did he do? He started up _Guitar Hero_, and played it for four hours straight. General Beckman was convinced she was going to have Pearl Jam's "Even Flow" stuck in her head for the rest of her life.

Then, when he was done assaulting her eardrums, he watched _Apocalypse Now_ and _The Departed_ back to back.

It was now 2:00 AM.

General Beckman didn't dare leave the facility, because she knew that at some point Casey and Walker were going to call in. She was actually at a loss as to why they hadn't yet. The only thing she knew was that they were ignoring all calls from both her and Director Graham.

When Director Graham came into the office, he found General Beckman with her head in her hands.

"I don't know why you're still here, if he makes you so crazy," he said. "I'd have just left a long, long time ago."

"Director Graham?"

"Yes?"

"You can feel free to tell me how to run this operation when I have my nuts on ice as well. Until that time, kindly keep your opinions to yourself."

* * *

Sarah felt miserable. She had woken up with a roofie hangover, and now she'd been up for twenty-two hours straight. On top of that, she was scared to death for Chuck's well-being. The guilt inside of her was almost unbearable.

"You should get some sleep, Walker," Casey told her. It was probably the tenth time since they'd figured out what was going on that he had told her that.

Sarah had spent all afternoon trying to analyze the message from Chuck. She had come to no conclusion other than that Fulcrum or the Agency had taken him in.

Fulcrum agents had an ego problem. They would've contacted her or Casey right away and gloated. It had to be the Agency.

Her Agency had betrayed her. Worse still, it had betrayed Chuck.

"Seriously, Walker."

"Alright, John," she said. Then she stopped short. "I must be really tired if I'm calling you John."

"My point exactly," he replied. "Good night."

He exited her hotel room and headed down the hall. As he did so, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Beckman."

"General, this is John Casey."

"Major Casey, it is about goddamn time you made contact. What's your situation?"

"Bartowski's been abducted, ma'am."

"And why didn't you report this immediately?!"

"Because you did it, ma'am."

There was silence at the other end of the line.

"Yeah, that silence was the wrong answer, ma'am."

"It's for his own good, Casey."

"Respectfully, I don't think you'd recognize his own good if it hit you in the face with a two by four, ma'am."

Casey disconnected, turned on his heel, and headed back to Sarah's hotel room. He pounded on the door.

She answered, having already changed into pajamas and put a sleep mask on her head. "That was quick."

"I just got confirmation from General Beckman."

Sarah immediately became alert again. "Well, that settles that," she declared. She turned around, headed to the dresser, and began pulling out guns and ammunition. "I am not letting them keep him penned up in some facility just because he got hit with the unlucky stick one day."

"What are you gonna do, Walker? Walk into whatever facility he's in and pull him out? You don't even know which facility he's in!"

"It doesn't matter, Casey. He's getting out."

He sighed. He shook his head. "Well, you're gonna need backup."

She stopped. "What?"

"You're gonna need backup, Walker. You can't go into an Agency facility by yourself and expect to walk out unscathed."

"And you of all people are going to help me. Casey, half the time you can't stand Chuck."

"Walker, let me ask you something. Did you swear an oath when you joined the CIA?"

"No. What difference does it make?"

"When I received my commission in the United States Air Force eighteen years ago, I swore an oath," Casey informed her. "That oath said that I would, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States of America. So help me God.

"Bartowski is an American citizen. His Constitutional rights have been strewn from here to next Christmas. I cannot simply stand by and watch that happen."

"So you're going to go help break Chuck out because he isn't getting life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?"

"That's about the long and short of it, Walker," Casey growled. "At least I'm not going off on some rash jailbreak simply because the guy makes me horny."

Sarah turned to face him, a look of shock on her face. "Let me tell you something, Major Casey," she hissed, stepping toward him.

"What, Agent Walker?"

_SMACK_.

She stepped back. "I feel better now."

Casey rubbed his right cheek. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"Good."

"You ready?"

"You're not getting the last word, Casey. Get out. I'll tell you when I'm ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

"GET OUT!"


	4. I Would've Stayed Up With You All Night

Sarah and Casey were in the home theatre lounge at the Buy More, strategizing. Casey had activated the Nerd Herd screensaver on the plasma screen in order to keep Beckman or Graham from being able to access the screen and monitor the two of them.

"We need to figure out where he is," Sarah was insisting.

"That's not a problem," Casey replied. "He's ingested so many tracking nanocells since I met him that I could probably track him on Mars."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, every time he trusts me to get him coffee, he's ingesting more."

She nodded. "Not bad," she admitted, grudgingly.

"The only problem is that my tracking equipment is in a secure facility."

Sarah's look of grudging admiration turned into one of disgust. "Oh, good job, genius."

"Hey, they've got enough stuff here that I can improvise. I just need a little while."

* * *

Chuck was having problems with his plasma screen TV. It was getting all sorts of distortion, which was making _Guitar Hero_ practically impossible.

Of course, he considered that the distortion might all be in his brain. He had ingested a dozen Red Bulls since he'd been there, had barely slept at all, and figured he was probably being considered a top candidate to be an interrogation officer at Guantanamo Bay at this point.

He knew that the soldiers on guard duty were starting to get a little unhinged at his manic behavior, and every time he saw General Beckman, she looked _that_ much closer to the edge. Director Graham was still limping, and Chuck was rather pleased in a vindictive fashion just how much chaos and mayhem he'd been able to visit upon these people.

That might've also been why they'd put the shock collar on him an hour ago.

He'd gotten out of his cell again, this time naked, and gone streaking up and down the corridor. He had actually pissed on an Army Ranger, which was not calculated to make him happy. Quite the contrary – Chuck had calculated that it would be one more thing to make General Beckman a little more insane.

And now his TV wasn't working properly. So he was getting pissed.

Annoyed, he dumped the guitar controller to the floor. He turned and looked at one of the surveillance cameras in the ceiling. "Oy!" he shouted. "If I'm going to be your unwilling prisoner, you jackasses could at least provide me with some working electronics!"

And just like that, the TV flickered on. It was General Beckman, and she looked like hell. "Why, hello there, General," Chuck said, pasting a gigantic shit-eating grin on his face.

"Bartowski… I swear to God, you are my worst nightmare."

"Ah, nothing like the feel of a job well done. Thank you, General!"

"WHY are you doing this, Bartowski? We're trying to make you as comfortable as possible."

"Why? Why?"

Chuck paused, as if he was actually considering the question.

"Well, you see, first of all, I got this entire database dumped into my head against my will. And then – would you like me to check off everything else that's happened since then?"

"No, Bartowski. I don't."

"Excellent! You see, I got chased through the streets of Chinatown by John Casey in a Suburban. Then I got held at gunpoint on a helipad by both him and Sarah Walker. Also, I disabled a bomb by downloading a porn virus. You're welcome, by the way. Then, I had to fake a relationship with a woman who I managed to fall in love with – thanks, by the way, for introducing that particular element of hell to my life.

"What happened after that. Let's see, a scientist who worked for Fulcrum tried to blow John Casey and me up, and then he abducted Sarah Walker, and then he tried to abduct me. Then, after I managed to disable him, I had to land a helicopter. Guess what – never done that before.

"After that, I got abducted by and yet managed to help with the capture of one of the most wanted spies in the world. You're welcome again. I managed to take a diamond out of the clutches of Al-Qaeda and put it directly in the CIA's hands. Then, I got China's top agent to defect. I helped take down a Triad cell. Oh, and did I mention that I kept a slightly unhinged CIA scientist from blowing up the Santa Monica Pier?"

He stopped for breath, and General Beckman started to speak. "Chuck, I am well aware of everything you've-"

"That may be, but YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY GOD DAMN THING I HAVE TO SAY!" Chuck roared at her.

General Beckman actually seemed slightly taken aback.

"THANK YOU. After that, I had to go back to Stanford, confront something I didn't want to confront, and almost got skewered by a crazy Icelandic assassin. Then, my sister and I both got drugged with truth toxin and we almost died. Hmmm. Oh yeah, then I got this great girlfriend. Too bad her ex-boyfriend was some crazy Greek bastard who I had to go stalk. Oops, so much for that girlfriend.

"But it gets even better, because the crazy Greek bastard brought Bryce mother fucking Larkin into the country. Oh my, when my life is great, it's great, because hot on his tail was Fulcrum. Gosh, that was fun, getting SHOT so that Fulcrum couldn't take me. And then, after that, I got to go take on some batshit crazy millionaire.

"Let's not forget that I got tossed off a hotel balcony by the Russian mafia, and oh yeah, that you jackasses tried to pluck me right out of the middle of Captain Awesome asking Ellie to marry him. I do believe that's it, right up until two nights ago, when you apparently drugged me and Sarah, dumped her in her hotel room, and brought me here."

"Bartowski, this is for your own good."

"General, you wouldn't know what was for my own good if it hit you in the face with a two-by-four!"

General Beckman looked up sharply. "What?"

"I said, you wouldn't know –"

"I know, shut up," she snapped. "It's just… Major Casey said the same thing twelve hours ago."

"Really," Chuck said. "So, that means Casey knows."

"He and Agent Walker are… efficient."

"Excellent. I expect I should be out of here within a day or so, then."

"That's not going to happen, Bartowski. If Walker and Casey tried to break you out of here, there would be… consequences. For them."

Chuck's face went pale and his eyes went wide. Then his features hardened.

When he spoke, his voice trembled, but there was definite steel beneath it. "General, let me assure you… if anything happens to Sarah…"

He paused, collecting himself. "I will be the last person you ever see."

And with that, he attempted to turn off the television, but accidentally hit the "channel up" button on the remote instead.

What he saw on the screen astonished him.

"Holy… shit…"

* * *

"We cannot bring Larkin in on this," Casey argued.

"He knows almost every CIA facility like the back of his hand," Sarah shot back. "Once we figure out where Chuck is, he'd be invaluab-"

She was cut off by Casey waving his hand. "What?"

He pointed at the television. The Nerd Herd screensaver was flickering. It popped, then disappeared. The screen went blank, and then –

Chuck appeared.

It was pretty clear he saw them, because his eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped.

"Holy… shit…"

"CHUCK!" Sarah shouted, jumping up from the couch and running to the screen.

His face broke into a huge smile. "Sarah!"

And at that point, the stress of having been awake for thirty-six hours, still trying to shake a Rohypnol hangover, and the weight of guilt and fear she'd been under broke her. Tears began cascading down her face, and when she tried to speak, she couldn't make anything come out.

Chuck's expression changed to one of concern. "Sarah, are you okay?"

Behind her, Casey rolled his eyes. "She's had a bit of a rough day or so."

Chuck ignored him. "Really, Sarah, are you all right?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve – _that's the grey sweater she was wearing the day after I "broke up" with her_, Chuck realized – and took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"What's been going on?" he asked.

Casey stepped forward. "Yesterday morning, your sister came home and discovered that you weren't in the apartment. She realized rather quickly that something was wrong, and called Rampart Division. They had detectives assigned to the case right away.

"Then, when we got to your sister's apartment, Walker threw up in the sink and almost passed out. Your sister's fiancé insisted on taking her to the hospital for tests. That's when we found out that she'd been administered Rohypnol.

"Devin insisted on having Ellie do a rape exam. When that turned out to be negative, we figured that somebody must've drugged you both to disable Walker and kidnap you."

"Yeah, General Beckman told me that Sarah put two NSA agents in the hospital during that," Chuck interjected.

A small smile crept onto Sarah's face. "Good to know," she said softly.

"Anyway, they managed to fake a fax to the Buy More and voicemails to both your sister and Walker. What they weren't counting on was the codes that you and Walker had set up for phone calls, and so she realized immediately it wasn't you.

"We figured it had to be Fulcrum or the Agency, and since Fulcrum hadn't said anything, that narrowed our choices. It was pretty much confirmed when I called General Beckman a few hours ago."

"And said that she wouldn't know what was good for me if it hit her in the face with a two-by-four," Chuck finished.

Casey looked puzzled. "How'd you know that?"

"Because I said the same thing a few minutes ago, and General Beckman told me you'd said it."

Casey nodded.

"Chuck," Sarah interrupted, "we're going to get you out. We just need to know where you are."

"Well, that's a problem," Chuck replied. "I don't have a clue."

"Your body is loaded with tracking nanocells," Casey told him. "We'll figure it out soon enough."

Chuck shook his head. "I'm in a room with a blocking field around it. The signal will never penetrate."

"Dammit," muttered Casey. "Well, that's out."

"Anyway," Chuck continued. "You might want to be careful, if for nobody's sake other than General Beckman."

"I don't understand," Sarah replied.

"Well, Sarah, I kind of told her that if anything happened to you… that, well, I would kill her."

As odd a thing as it was to smile about, Sarah got a little smile on her face and looked down. Casey arched an eyebrow. "That's mighty chivalrous of you, Bartowski, but threatening the life of the NSA Director probably isn't the wisest course of action."

"Got nothing to lo-"

And he was cut off. The signal had obviously been isolated, and the NSA had disconnected him.

"Alright," Sarah sighed. "We need to figure out a way to find out where he is."

"I have an idea," Casey replied.

"What is it?"

"We need to go talk to Ellie Bartowski."


	5. Had I Known

Ellie Bartowski was truly enjoying her day off. She was confident in the knowledge that her brother had gone off to hike the Grand Canyon – who knew?! – and she was just lounging at the kitchen table. The L.A. Times crossword before her, a peanut butter and Hershey sandwich on her left, a glass of Chablis on her right. It was a combination that made Devin sick, but he wasn't there to have to see it, so who cared?

She definitely wasn't expecting the knock on the door, and when she opened it, she was even more surprised to see John Casey and a very exhausted looking Sarah Walker. However, she took it in stride, asking, "What's a seven letter word for a 1980s Libyan dictator?"

"Qaddafi," Casey replied automatically. "Can we talk to you?"

"Sure," Ellie said, stepping back from the door. "Come on in."

As Casey sat down on the couch, Sarah simply collapsed into Devin's recliner. "Sarah, you look exhausted," Ellie said, a note of concern in her voice.

"I'm fine," Sarah replied, waving her hand. "Listen, we need to talk to you about Chuck."

"Chuck's at the Grand Canyon," Ellie said. "I know."

"No, he's not," Casey replied. "You know how we said we worked for the government, and we're protecting Chuck?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, it turns out the government has kidnapped Chuck, and they're holding him in an unknown facility."

Ellie's face drained of color. "Are you sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I got confirmation from the director of the National Security Agency."

Ellie held her composure for a few seconds, and then her face crumpled. "Son of a BITCH!" she howled, smashing her fists down on the kitchen counter. She picked up her wine glass and was about to hurl it across the room, but Casey leapt up and grabbed her hand before she could do so. He took the wine glass from her, set it down on the counter, and then led her over to the couch.

"Let me ask you something," he said. "What would you be willing to do to free Chuck?"

Ellie sniffled a bit before speaking. "Just about anything."

"Would you be willing to commit a felony so egregious that you would probably go to jail for the rest of your life if it didn't work out?"

"Would I be killing somebody?"

Casey shook his head. "No. There will be no violence, no death, no injuries even, as long as everything works out right."

Ellie nodded. "Then yes, absolutely.

"What do I have to do?"

* * *

Chuck had gotten a good night's sleep. After he'd woken up, he'd gotten to take out some of his aggression on General Beckman, and then he'd gotten to see Sarah. He had been a little upset that the transmission had been cut before he could say good-bye, but overall, it had been a pretty good morning. 

Well, a good morning for being held in some secret government bunker.

Anyway, he'd decided to engage in a marathon session of _Guitar Hero_ after that. He'd already determined that it bugged the hell out of General Beckman, so he figured he'd continue doing what he could to destroy what was left of her nerves.

He was in the middle of Rage Against the Machine's _Bulls on Parade _when the game snapped off and Director Graham's face popped up.

"Director!" Chuck said, a cheery note in his voice. "How are the boys?"

"They're fine, no thanks to you," Graham grated.

"Well, that's good," Chuck replied. "Don't expect me to be apologetic, though. You did kidnap me, after all."

"It's for your –"

"-own good, yeah, yeah, fuck you too," Chuck interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I believe I said, 'fuck you too'," Chuck replied. "I'm pretty sure I'm entitled to say whatever I want at this point. In fact, I called General Beckman a 'bitch' earlier; I'm pretty sure I could figure out something creative to say about you."

Director Graham gave him what could only be described as a stare of death. Chuck matched him look for look.

"You don't intimidate me, Director. I have nothing to lose. You have the Intersect to lose."

With a final glare, Graham broke the transmission. As the screen went black, Chuck crossed to the cabinet where all his media was kept.

Pulling out a book of old CDs, he found a particularly vile one from his frat house days. Loading it into the DVD player, he turned up the volume on the sound system as loud as he could, and cued up track 1.

As the song started, Chuck shouted along. "SHAKE THAT ASS, BITCH, AND LET ME SEE WHAT YOU GOT! JUST SHAKE THAT ASS, BITCH, AND LET ME SEE WHAT YOU GOT!"

In the surveillance room, Director Graham dropped his head to the desk in despair. "Would somebody, for God's sake, please turn the volume down…"

* * *

It was just after ten p.m. in Maryland. General Beckman was happy to be back at Fort Meade after the last few days. 

She had turned the facility over to Director Graham and flown back to Andrews earlier that afternoon. She had other things to attend to with the NSA and couldn't be concentrating on the Bartowski thing all the time.

Her car was waiting for her outside the main doors of the NSA facility. She got in the back seat, said simply, "Home," and leaned back, closing her eyes.

Close to an hour later, she awoke, and realized she was nowhere near her home. "What the hell?" she asked, a note of panic rising in her voice. "Pull over!" she ordered the driver.

The driver pulled over. "Where the hell are we?"

"We're in Patuxent River Park, ma'am," the driver replied.

"What the hell are we doing here?!"

"Well, you see," the driver said, turning around, "my name is Dr. Eleanor Fae Bartowski. I believe you may have kidnapped my brother."

She turned on the dome light and General Beckman could see that yes, indeed, it was Ellie Bartowski.

Her eyes went wide, and she tried to think of something to say. "You… you… you know, kidnapping a cabinet level official is a federal crime, Dr. Bartowski."

"As was kidnapping my brother," Ellie replied, a hard note in her voice. "A kidnapping is a kidnapping."

"He's a government asset, we're sequestering him."

"I live in the Ninth Circuit, General Beckman. There are very liberal judges there who would see things very differently from you."

"So what exactly do you plan to do with me, Dr. Bartowski? Are you going to kill me?"

"No way," Ellie said. "But my friends might have something else to say."

With that, the left rear door and the right front door of the car opened. Sarah Walker got in the backseat with General Beckman, and John Casey got in the right front seat.

General Beckman's face hardened. "You two are finished," she spat.

"I doubt that seriously," Sarah replied.

Casey didn't say anything to Beckman, just looked at Ellie and said, "Drive."

Ellie put the car in gear and started heading south again.

"Why do you doubt that you're finished, Agent Walker?"

"Because it's an election year, ma'am. If anything about this were to get out, it would be a disaster for the NSA. Senator Obama, Senator Clinton, Senator McCain – they would ALL disown the NSA. You're already a radioactive agency after everything you've done for President Bush, and if anybody were to be finished, it would be you."

"Watch it with the Bush-bashing," Casey growled from the front seat.

"Sorry. But still, the point is, you're not going to do a damn thing to us, General. You can't afford to."

General Beckman nodded. "Alright. Let's say that I conceded that point. I'm not saying that I will, just speaking theoretically here. What makes you think I would tell you the location of the Intersect?"

Ellie Bartowski slammed on the brakes so hard that General Beckman flew forward, her head slamming into the back of Casey's seat before her seatbelt stopped her. Ellie whirled round to look at General Beckman.

"His name is Charles Irving Bartowski. You can call him 'Chuck'. If you call him anything else, then so help me, you will be walking back to Fort Meade."

General Beckman held a hand to her forehead. Ellie continued down the road.

* * *

It was almost 8:30 PM, and Bartowski was still going strong. He had spent most of the day either playing _Guitar Hero_ or blasting vile rap tunes. It was driving Director Graham crazy. 

Now he was watching _New Jack City_. Graham had finally had it. He turned on his feed, overriding the movie.

"Aw, come on!" Chuck whined as Graham's image appeared on the screen.

"Are you trying to bait me?" Graham growled at Chuck.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Chuck replied innocently.

"Really," Graham replied. His mouth tightened, and his eyes widened. "Well let me tell you something, Bartowski. You want to keep playin' that rap shit, you want to watch that movie, you want me to turn into a real street nigga, I will COME DOWN THERE AND BUST A CAP IN YO CRACKA ASS!"

If he was trying to intimidate Chuck, he had failed. Chuck simply smiled and nodded. "Ah, you cracked so much more easily than General Beckman."

Graham couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You've been doing this intentionally, you little shit?!"

"You're goddamn right I have, you self-righteous, holier-than-thou son of a bitch! I don't appreciate being kidnapped and caged like an animal one goddamn bit, and I don't care if it IS for national security! So you had BETTER believe that I'm going to go out of my way to make your life an unholy HELL as long as I'm in here!"

And with that, he gave Graham the finger and turned off the TV.

* * *

General Beckman had a headache. She also had a general sense of unease that had grown as Ellie Bartowski had driven deep into Virginia. 

Neither Walker nor Casey had said a word since Ellie's last outburst. That bothered Beckman almost as much as not knowing where she was.

Finally, the car rolled to a stop. "I'll handle this," Casey said to Ellie and Sarah. "There's no reason for you to have to witness this."

He got out of the car, and pulled General Beckman's door open. He roughly pulled her from the car, and guided her toward a farmhouse about fifty yards away. There was one light, flickering in the kitchen.

Casey opened the screen door, and was greeted with a shotgun to the face. "It's just me, Abraham," Casey said.

"John! How'sh it been?"

Beckman got a glimpse of the man with the shotgun in the guttering lamp light, and what she saw petrified her. It was a true hillbilly, probably in his seventies. He was missing most of his teeth, and his hair and eyes were wilder than anything she'd ever seen.

"I've got something for you, Abraham," Casey replied, indicating Beckman.

Her eyes went wide. "Oh my God," she gasped.

"Oooh, she shore do have a purdy mouf," Abraham said, a two-toothed grin appearing.

Beckman's breath left her body for a moment, but she somehow regained it as Abraham approached.

"Moab," she gasped.

"Excuse me?" Casey replied.

"Moab. He's in Moab, Utah. There's a facility there, just south of town, at Mill Creek Drive, and Murphy Lane."

"Thank you, General."

He re-opened the screen door, but before he walked out, he handed a bundle of cash to Abraham. "Sorry I can't leave her with you, but that should tide you over for a while."

"Thank you kindly, Johnny!"

Casey walked Beckman back to the car. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

She was practically catatonic as he opened her door. He had to encourage her to buckle her seatbelt, and then got in his own seat. Ellie and Sarah both just looked at him.

Finally, Sarah spoke. "What happened?"

"Not a damn thing," Casey replied. "All he had to do was say she had a pretty mouth, and she spilled the beans. Moab, Utah's where we need to go. Pretty sad for the director of a high-secrecy government agency, if you ask me."

Beckman turned slowly to stare at Casey. "Damn you, John," she whispered. "Damn you to hell."


	6. How to Save a Life

It was nearly four in the morning by the time they reached General Beckman's house, north of Baltimore. Casey and Sarah got her out of the car and helped her into the house.

After lying her down on her bed, Sarah removed a sterile syringe and a vial from her purse. Sticking the needle into the vial, she withdrew a milliliter, and tapped it to remove bubbles.

"What is that?" General Beckman whispered, still in shock from her encounter in Virginia.

"It's something that I received in pill form three nights ago, General," Sarah replied.

General Beckman's eyes went wide. "Rohypnol?"

Sarah nodded, her face expressionless. "Medicinal grade," she replied. "Inject you with it, you'll be out for eight hours. Don't worry, nobody's going to do anything to you."

And then, without a word more, Sarah bent over General Beckman, stuck the syringe into a vein in her wrist, and pressed down the plunger.

As she and Casey were walking out of General Beckman's bedroom, Beckman softly whispered, "Agent Walker."

Sarah turned around. "Yes?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Sarah paused, as if unsure of how to answer the question. Finally, she looked General Beckman in the eyes.

"I made the mistake of falling in love."

* * *

It was the third morning of Chuck's captivity in the secret government facility. He was worn out from the prior two days of terrorizing Beckman and Graham. 

As he came to, he realized something was wrong. The refrigerator was gone, replaced by one of those little Arrowhead water coolers. The plasma screen TV was gone. The media cabinet was gone. The sofa was gone. All that was left was the water cooler and his bed.

"The hell?" he grumbled, sitting up.

The door opened, and Director Graham walked in. He was accompanied by two men in dark suits, armed with Tasers.

"Good morning, Bartowski," he said, a smile on his face.

Chuck didn't return his greeting. He just did like he had the first morning – stared expressionlessly at the Director.

"I see you noticed the lack of furniture and décor," Graham said.

Chuck simply nodded.

"Well, that's because you're no longer a guest here," Graham informed him. "You are now a prisoner. You will no longer be referred to as Bartowski. You are now Prisoner Number One. You will answer to that. You will not cause trouble. You will obey orders. If you step out of line, you will be stunned."

Chuck swung his legs over the side of the bed, stood, and stepped toward Graham. Immediately, one of the dark-suited men lifted his Taser and pulled the trigger. A tiny dart impacted Chuck's upper arm, and suddenly, he felt like he'd stuck his finger into a high voltage outlet.

As Chuck collapsed back onto the bed, Director Graham stepped toward him and looked down at him. "Enjoy your day, Prisoner Number One," he said with a smile.

Graham and the two men stepped back out of the room. Chuck just lay on the bed, recovering from the electric shock. Eventually, he rolled on his side, facing the wall.

He curled up into a ball. He could feel the pressure building in his chest, but he tried to hold it back.

Finally, he could control himself no longer. The sob burst forth from his chest, and unbidden, he began to cry.

* * *

Sarah, Casey, and Ellie had caught the first Southwest Airlines flight of the day out of Baltimore. It had left at 5:15 AM, and arrived in Los Angeles just after 9:00 AM Pacific Time. "The Rohypnol will be wearing off within a few minutes," Casey warned as they ran through the airport. "Ellie, I need you to call Devin and give him an address to meet us at." 

The address Casey gave was in south central Los Angeles. He maintained a safe house that nobody – not Sarah, not the NSA, not the CIA – knew about. "I figured I might need it some day, but not for this," he explained.

It didn't look like much from the outside – just one more run down ranch house off of Florence Boulevard – but on the inside, it was a virtual armory. Casey had just about every weapon one could acquire legally, and several illegal ones as well.

"So what's the plan?" Devin asked.

"We know the location of the facility that Chuck's being held at," Casey replied. "There's a tiny airport just a little distance away. It's big enough to land a Learjet at, and I just so happen to have one – off the books – parked at Hawthorne Airport."

"Okay," Ellie said. "So, my question is, why do you want me and Devin along on this retrieval mission?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "Ellie, there's a good chance that Casey, or I, or both of us, or possibly even Chuck, is going to need medical attention when we get back to the plane in Moab."

Ellie's eyes widened. "What kind of medical attention?"

"Gunshot wounds," Casey answered her simply.

Ellie blew out her breath in one big puff. "Well. Okay."

Devin held up a hand, almost as if he were a child in grade school, asking a question. "So, who's going to be flying this thing?"

"That would be me," Casey answered. "It's my plane."

"But you just said you might be injured. What if you can't fly?"

"Walker's trained to fly a plane of that type in an emergency."

"What if she's wounded too?"

Casey and Sarah looked at each other. It was pretty clear that they hadn't thought that far in advance.

"Chuck," Ellie said simply.

"What?!"

"Bartowski? Come on."

"Ellie… as awesome as he is, I'm not sure Chuck can do that."

"Of course he can," Ellie insisted. "He's the world's biggest video game geek. He's played every version of Microsoft Flight Simulator to come off the line. He could probably start up and fly a Learjet in his sleep."

Sarah looked at Casey again. "Well…" she started. "I guess, all the training I've received was in a simulator… Chuck may well be just as qualified as me."

"Alright," Casey said. "So Bartowski's the backup to the backup. Let's try not to get to that point, shall we?"

"We're going to need medical equipment," Ellie mentioned. "Probably a fair amount of it."

"Not a problem, babe," Devin said. "I know a guy over at L.A. Metro Med Center – it's a mile the other side of Hawthorne Airport. I'll give him a call –"

He started to pull out his cell phone, but Casey reached out and grabbed it out of his hand. "Use a land line, a pay phone, but not a cell phone," he warned Devin. "I guarantee you the instant one of our cell phones goes active, the NSA will be all over us."

Devin shrugged. "Not a problem, big guy."

"Okay, so weapons, medical supplies – how exactly are we going to transport this all?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Come with me," Casey replied.

Sarah, Ellie, and Devin followed Casey into the backyard, to a ramshackle garage. Casey opened the door – and there was an old, faded blue Ford panel van. "That'll work," Ellie said.

It took about fifteen minutes to load all the weaponry that Sarah and Casey had decided to take – "Looks like you're planning to start World War 3," Devin joked, although it didn't draw a smile from either Sarah or Casey.

At 3:00 PM, they left the safehouse, headed for Hawthorne. They stopped at a 7-11 on the way so that Devin could call his friend at the hospital. That was their next stop, fifteen minutes later, where they managed to abscond with a crash cart, two diagnostic units, two IV units, and enough type O- blood and plasma for a small army, among other small supplies.

They got everything loaded without incident. At four o'clock, Casey was taxiing out to the runway, when a half dozen police cars came screaming onto the field. "John Casey," one of them announced over his loudspeaker. "This is the Los Angeles County Sheriff. You are under arrest. Shut down your engines and exit the aircraft."

"Like hell," Casey muttered. Pulling the yoke all the way over to the left, he brought the right hand engine up nearly to redline, spinning the aircraft around in a circle, so that its tail was pointed at the sheriff's deputies. He then redlined both engines, causing the Lear to leap forward, headed the wrong way down the taxiway, the jet blast knocking the deputies over to a man.

"Everybody buckle up. This is going to get real interesting, real quick," Casey shouted to the back of the plane.

"What the hell is going on, Casey?" Sarah shouted back.

"We're taking off from a taxiway, with the wind," Casey yelled back. "Either one of those is dangerous by itself. Together, they might be fatal!"

He laughed, almost maniacally. "Rock and roll!"

In the back, Devin had a white knuckle grip on his armrests. "Not… awesome."

Casey somehow managed to get the plane off the ground with just inches to spare. He practically scraped the fence on the border of the airport, and screamed over Prairie Avenue low enough to terrify people on the street.

He pulled the nose of the Learjet up to just before the stall point, and pushed the engine throttles to their max stops. The business jet struggled to gain altitude, but it wasn't climbing fast enough.

"Shit," Casey muttered. "All right!" he yelled out. "Time to hold on again – we're gonna be flying straight through LAX airspace!"

Sarah's eyes went wide, as Ellie's squeezed shut. "Oh my God," they both whispered.

Casey brought the nose back down on the horizon, pulled his flaps all the way in, and let the airspeed build. He rocketed toward Los Angeles International Airport, trying to aim his path to go over the terminals, and not over the runways.

He was encountering more and more turbulence as he approached the airport. To his left, a United Airlines 747 took off, the jetwake buffeting his aircraft. Casey closed his eyes and said a small prayer as he crossed the airport boundary –

- and then they were through. Casey could hear the angry shouts of pilots and air traffic controllers behind him over the radio, but it didn't matter. They were out over the ocean, and he finally had enough airspeed to climb.

He pulled the nose up, and set the auto-altimeter to 32,000 feet. When they reached cruising altitude, he entered the coordinates for Moab, set the autopilot, and walked out into the cabin.

Casey was greeted by three very pale looking individuals. Sarah and Ellie were holding on to their armrests for dear life, and Devin was clutching a barf bag. A smile broke out on Casey's face.

"The captain has extinguished the seatbelt light," he said. "At this time, please feel free to move about the cabin, and thank you for flying Air Casey!"

Sarah gave him a look, shook her head, and whispered, "I hate you so much sometimes."

* * *

Chuck lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd been doing the same thing for most of the day. 

He had gotten up to use the bathroom twice. He had tried to get up when the men in dark suits brought him his lunch, and had gotten Tase'd for his efforts. So, when they brought him his dinner, he just stayed laying in the bed until they left.

The food was boring, but at least they were still feeding him. He couldn't believe his crappy luck – in seventy-two hours, he'd gone from slow-dancing with Sarah at the Viper Room, her body practically molded to his, to being a prisoner, to being even more of a prisoner. "This is bullshit," he muttered.

And then – it seemed like he was hearing the end of the world approaching. There was a low rumble at first, and then his bed started vibrating, and then there was an impossibly loud roar of jet engines as an aircraft passed what couldn't have been more than feet over the roof.

"What the hell is going on?!"

* * *

Casey's approach to Grand County Airport had been impossibly low and slow. He had been counting on a short airstrip, so he was mighty annoyed when he discovered that the strip at the airport was 7,100 feet long. 

Sarah had been grateful for the low approach, though. She'd been able to eyeball the CIA facility that General Beckman had said Chuck was being kept in. "It looks pretty well fortified," she observed.

As Casey landed, he saw a Jeep driving down the runway to meet them. He slowed the Lear to a stop at the end of the runway, turning it around to position it for immediate takeoff.

The Jeep pulled up as he opened the door. "Airport's closed!" the driver yelled, getting out. "You can't park there, anyway!"

"NSA!" Casey shouted in reply, coming down the Lear's airstair and flashing his ID. "This is a national security matter, and I need to commandeer your Jeep."

Hearing "national security", the airport manager's whole demeanor changed. "Yes sir!" he replied, snapping to attention. "Gunnery Sergeant Mitch Tucker, US Marine Corps Reserve, at your service, sir!"

"Major John Casey, US Air Force," was the reply. Gunny Tucker snapped a picture-perfect salute, which Casey returned with equal perfection.

"I need you to stay here and make damn sure nobody touches my plane, Gunny," Casey said.

"Yes sir. Not a problem, sir!"

Gunny Tucker ran off to go retrieve his step-van and the accompanying KA-BAR knife, M-16, and Colt .45 that were kept inside. As he did so, Casey and Sarah quickly and methodically loaded their armament into his Jeep.

"I want you two to stay in the plane," Sarah informed Ellie and Devin. "Do not, under any circumstances, leave the plane. If somebody comes along and asks, tell them that you were abducted. You are not here of your own free will, you don't know what's going on, you have nothing to do with it."

Ellie nodded. "Understood," Devin answered.

Casey was sitting in the driver's seat of the Jeep when Gunny Tucker returned. "That's a whole lot of hardware you've got there," the Marine Corps reservist observed as Sarah came down the stairs. "Looks almost like you're planning to go to war there."

"Not at all, Marine," Casey replied. "We're going to rescue a United States citizen being held against his will by, uh…"

"Terrorists," Sarah finished for him.

A glint appeared in Tucker's eyes and his mouth took on a hard set. "You sure I can't come with you folks, give you a little backup?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I need my aircraft kept safe," Casey replied.

"Understood, sir." Tucker snapped off another salute, which Casey returned as he put the Jeep in gear and roared away down the field.

As they exited the airport, Sarah turned to Casey. "Are you ready for this?" she asked, a worried tone in her voice.

"Hell no," he replied. "But I'm sure as hell gonna give it my best shot!"


	7. Maybe You Want Her

"Unbelievable," Casey grunted.

The Jeep was parked across Mill Creek Drive from the CIA facility, secluded behind a few trees. Casey was examining the entranceway to the facility with a pair of Zeiss field glasses he'd had since he was a kid.

"What's that?" Sarah asked.

"They've got this high-tech guard shack, everything automated, and yet they have a crappy ass little wooden arm-gate."

"Are you sure it's not reinforced?"

Casey handed the binoculars to Sarah. "Look at the cracks in it. One good push, and it would disintegrate."

Sarah nodded. "That guard shack looks pretty fierce, though. How do you plan to take it down?"

"With this," Casey replied, hefting a rather strange looking gun-like thing.

"That being…"

"An EMP claw launcher," Casey said, stroking it. "I launch this thing, the claw penetrates the side of the shack, and fires an electromagnetic pulse into it. That causes the electrical systems in the shack to go haywire, which causes the shack to automatically go into security shutdown and seal itself."

Sarah nodded, almost admiringly. "Pretty creative. Where'd you get it?"

"San Bernardino County Sheriff. They use them to take down street racers. The best part is, then they take their cars and crush them while they watch."

Sarah turned to look at Casey. "You're kidding."

Casey shook his head with a grin. "Nope. There are more flattened Honda Civics in that county…"

He stopped talking. "Alright, the gate guard's inside. You ready?"

"Let's do this," Sarah said, starting the Jeep and putting it in gear.

Casey aimed the EMP launcher, waited till he got a lock-on tone, and fired. As soon as the claw whooshed out of the tube, he sat down, the Jeep accelerating toward the gate.

The claw latched itself onto the guard shack, and Casey hit the "activate" button on the control panel for it. The guard shack did exactly what he said would happen – everything inside deactivated, and it sealed itself, trapping the two guards inside, with no way to communicate.

Sarah smashed into the wooden gate going about forty miles an hour. The flimsy arm splintered, and she roared onto the grounds.

There was only one building, so that somewhat narrowed their options as to where Chuck might be. Sarah aimed toward the building, and hit the gas.

"Walker, what are you doing?" Casey asked, as she got closer to the building and didn't slow down. "Walker… WALKER!"

She pushed the speed up to sixty, and just before she was about to hit the building, she stomped on the brake and the clutch, yanked the handbrake, and jerked the wheel as far to the left as it would go. The Jeep did a 180, and slid backward through the glass doors of the building, smashing them and coming to a stop in the lobby.

"Not bad," Casey admitted, slipping from his seat and crouching down in the foot well in front of it. Sarah did the same.

"You in the Jeep! Exit the vehicle, with your hands up!"

Casey did exactly the opposite, instead pulling the pin on a flash-bang grenade and tossing it out into the lobby. He and Sarah both ducked, and a moment later, a brilliant flash of phosphorous-fired light filled the room, followed by an incredibly loud bang.

When Casey and Sarah exited the Jeep, guns at the ready, they were met by a team of four stunned CIA agents. One was bleeding from the side of his head, but all were conscious. They were quickly relieved of their guns, and Sarah restrained them with plastic zip-tie style handcuffs.

"Anybody know where the Intersect is?" Casey asked, as he and Sarah roughly sat the agents against the wall.

"Interrogation Room 12B," one of them answered in a hollow voice.

Casey took off down the hall. Sarah followed in his footsteps, saying, "You would do well not to even try to follow us," as she went.

The facility was surprisingly empty. "I figured they'd have a platoon of Army Rangers here," Casey muttered. "They usually do for situations like this."

"The Army was relieved," came a voice from behind them. Casey and Sarah both whirled around, to find Director Graham standing behind them, an armed CIA agent to either side. "Bartowski is no longer our guest, he's our prisoner."

Sarah strode forward, toward Graham. "What the hell have you do-"

She was cut off as one of the agents fired. The bullet tore into her right shoulder, sending her flying backward. She slid to a stop, and lay motionless on the floor.

Casey looked down at her, and when he looked back up, there was murder in his eyes. "You son of a bitch," he growled. With seemingly impossible speed, his hands came up, a gun in both, and before the agents could react, they were each on the floor, dead, a bullet in their brains.

He advanced toward Graham, both guns aimed at him. "Your jacket. Take it off."

Graham shed his suit coat. "Why am I taking it off?"

"I need something to stem Walker's bleeding, you jackass," Casey replied. "Now, that supply closet to your left. Open it."

Graham did so. "Now what?"

"Step inside."

Graham complied. "And now?"

Casey smiled. "Peace."

He kicked the door shut, and then shot the lock out. "Good luck getting out of there with a permanently shut deadbolt, Director!" he shouted.

He heard Graham's muffled yells from inside the closet. "Let me out, you son of a bitch!"

"Not a chance," came the weak voice of Sarah Walker from behind Casey. He turned to see her, standing behind him, a blood-covered hand on her shoulder.

"Here," Casey said, handing Graham's jacket to her. "Hold this against your shoulder. It should help to stop the blood flow."

Sarah took the jacket and pressed it against the wound. "Can you still move your right hand, enough to fire a gun?"

Sarah's right arm came up about halfway, but it was more than enough for her to lift the gun and aim it. "A little shaky," she replied, "but it'll do."

Casey didn't say a word, just took off running down the hall, Sarah on his tail. He read off the room numbers under his breath as he went. "Nine A, Nine B, Ten A, Ten B, Eleven A, Eleven B, Twelve A…"

They skidded to a stop in front of 12B. "Three deadbolts," Casey groaned. "Crap."

"And yet, two normal hinges," Sarah pointed out.

Casey grinned. "Excellent."

* * *

Chuck had been awakened by what he thought were shouts and gunshots, but then everything was quiet again. "Must've been a dream," he said to himself.

He stayed lying in the bed, and then he was certain he heard voices outside his room. Very familiar voices.

That was followed by the sound of metal scraping on metal – and then the door to his room fell off its hinges.

As Chuck stood up from his bed, John Casey stepped into the room. "Casey!" Chuck practically shouted. He ran across the room, and wrapped the NSA agent in a bear hug. "I never thought I would be so happy to see you!"

Casey awkwardly patted Chuck on the back. "Uh, you can let go now, Bartowski," he said. "I think there's somebody else who wants to see you, anyway."

Chuck turned to his right – and there was Sarah, standing in the hallway. His eyes lit up when he saw her – and his expression immediately changed to one of concern when he saw how pale she was, and realized that her right shoulder was drenched in blood.

"Sarah? What happened?!"

He stepped toward her. She started to explain, but then changed her mind. She took her left hand off of her shoulder, grabbed the back of his head, and pulled him to her.

The kiss was passionate, furious – and brief. "There'll be all the time for that in the world when we're not in a life-and-death situation," Casey grumbled, breaking the moment.

Chuck pulled away from Sarah. It was a moment before she opened her eyes.

"Alright," she finally said. "I'll take point. Chuck, you stay behind me. Casey, bring up the rear."

She took off, her left hand back to putting pressure on her right shoulder, her right hand at hip level, gun leveled. Chuck followed, with Casey behind, a gun in each hand.

They reached the lobby with no incident. However, one of the restrained CIA agents had managed to worm his way over to an MP5. As Casey passed him, he fired, not looking, not aiming. The automatic fire stitched across the back of Casey's legs, causing him to cry out in pain and collapse to the ground.

Sarah whirled round. "Get down, Chuck!" she shouted. Chuck dove behind the protective cover of the Jeep as Sarah aimed her gun as well as she could. She fired, and her shot hit the agent in the shoulder, causing him to drop the gun – but not before a stray bullet from the MP5 hit her in the gut.

"Shit!" she shouted, doubling over in pain. Chuck popped up from behind the Jeep, saw her bent over, and ran over to her.

"What happened?!" he practically yelled. Sarah stood back up, wincing.

"Nothing, I'll be okay. Get Casey into the Jeep."

Casey had latched onto the rear bumper and dragged himself up to his knees. Chuck grabbed him under the arms, pulled him up the rest of the way, and hefted him over the tailgate of the Jeep, unceremoniously dumping him into the back end.

Sarah had started to limp her way around to the driver's seat, but Chuck stopped her. "Absolutely not," he said. "You can't drive and shift with one good arm, and I don't feel like getting out of here just to die in an unfortunate car crash."

Sarah smiled through her pain at Chuck's sarcastic word choice. Without saying anything, she limped over to the shotgun door and got in the Jeep. Chuck got in the driver's seat, started the Jeep and pulled out of the building.

He rounded the corner, heading toward the exit – and found that there were several Hummers between him and the gate. "FLOOR IT!" Sarah shouted. And so Chuck did.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!" he yelled, as the Jeep flew toward the waiting Hummers. The Army Rangers with the Hummers opened fire. Bullets pinged off the Jeep's body. Chuck and Sarah both ducked as the windshield shattered. Then, the left front tire was hit, and Chuck thought it was the end of the world.

Fortunately, Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell Tucker was a paranoid man. He had had tires put on his Jeep with steel plates in the middle – much like the tires on Secret Service vehicles. It would continue to drive for as long as Chuck needed it to.

As soon as Chuck realized that the Jeep was still moving forward and still under his control, he started laughing. "YES!" he shouted, dropping down to the next gear and rocketing forward.

He blasted past the Hummers, through the exit gate, and out onto Mill Creek Drive. He fishtailed out into the road, swerving to the left. In the back, Casey was rolled into the tailgate, the impact causing his bullet-riddled legs so much pain that he passed out.

Chuck kept the accelerator to the floor. The Rangers had regrouped, loaded up their Hummers, and were following the Jeep. Sarah was shouting out directions, and Chuck was taking the turns at as high a speed as he could without rolling the Jeep. The fact that he was driving on a steel plate on the left front corner was making things a little bit difficult.

Finally – or at least, it seemed like finally; in reality, it had been less than five minutes – the airport entrance came into view. Chuck poured on as much speed as he could. When he hit 110, he realized that there was a stepvan coming toward him from the interior of the airport.

Chuck blew through the airport entrance, and passed the stepvan a moment later. In the rearview mirror, he watched the stepvan skid sideways to a stop, blocking the entrance to the field.

As the Jeep rocketed toward the Learjet waiting at the other end of the field, Gunny Mitch Tucker jumped out of the stepvan with a rather wicked looking launcher in his hands. He aimed it directly at the front of the lead Hummer.

The Hummer convoy rolled to a stop in front of him. "UNITED STATES MARINES!" he bellowed in a voice developed through years of overseeing basic training. "You will dismount from your vehicles and throw your weapons to the ground, or so help me, the next person you speak to will be St. Peter!"

The twelve Rangers did exactly as he ordered, exiting the Hummers, and dropping their weapons to the ground. Gunny Tucker's jaw dropped when he realized who they were.

"Rangers?!" he gasped. "Working with terrorists? I KNEW the goddamn Army couldn't be trusted!"

Meanwhile, at the other end of the field, Chuck had skidded to a stop outside the Learjet. "ELLIE! DEVIN!" Sarah shouted from the Jeep.

Chuck's sister appeared in the door of the Learjet. Her eyes went wide when she saw Chuck, and then even wider when she saw the shape Casey and Sarah were in.

Ellie practically flew down the airstairs, Devin hot on her heels. She quickly gave Chuck a kiss on the cheek, followed by Devin saying, "Awesome to see you, bro," but just as quickly, the two doctors turned their attention to John Casey and Sarah Walker.

"Let me see your wounds, Sarah," Ellie was saying.

"No," Sarah insisted. "Casey's hurt a whole lot worse than I am."

"She's right, babe," Devin called. "He's got compound fractures in both legs, not to mention a number of bullets still in his flesh. CHUCK!"

Chuck ran over to where Devin was. "Help me get John up into the plane."

Chuck grabbed Casey under one shoulder, while Devin got the other. Mercifully, he stayed unconscious as they dragged him up the airstair, his legs bumping against the steps several times.

Ellie, meanwhile, helped Sarah up the stairs. Sarah wobbled a little going up, but determinedly strode into the aircraft and turned left, into the cockpit. "Chuck! I need your help flying this thing!"

Chuck darted forward, into the cockpit. "Oh, Lear 35J," he said. "Piece of cake."

Sarah looked over at him. "What?"

"I have logged more hours in this thing on flight simulator games than you would believe," he replied confidently.

"I told you so!" came Ellie's voice from the back.

Sarah started up the engines as Devin pulled the door closed. "Okay, I'm going to need you to actually fly this thing," Sarah said. "I can control the flaps, gear and radios, but you're going to need to handle the yoke and the throttles."

"Not a problem," Chuck replied. "Just get strapped in, and tell me when you're ready to go."

Sarah turned toward the back of the aircraft, wincing as she did so. "You guys ready back there?"

"We're good!" Ellie shouted.

The aircraft was already positioned for takeoff, so Chuck simply pushed the throttles to full. Sarah reached over and flipped on the exterior lights. "It'd be nice if you could see where you were going," she commented dryly.

"I need you to call off our speed," Chuck replied, ignoring her sarcasm.

Sarah looked over at the ground speed indicator. "100… 110… 120… 130…"

When she reached 140, Chuck pulled back on the yoke. The Learjet leapt from the runway into the sky, thundering over the entrance gate. Gunny Tucker looked up, watching the gear retract into the fuselage.

"Good luck, and God speed," he whispered as the jet disappeared into the night sky.


	8. Maybe You Need Her

Chuck had leveled the Learjet off at 35,000 feet. He still had his hand on the throttle controls, when he felt a hand on top of his.

He looked down, and saw a hand covered in dried blood on top of his. He didn't care about the blood, though – the hand belonged to Sarah Walker. He looked up and over at her. She looked back at him and smiled – and then her eyes rolled backward in her head, and she slumped back against the seat.

Chuck's eyes went wide, and then he looked down – her lap was covered in blood.

"Oh my God," he whispered. He turned his head to look out the cockpit door. "C.A.!"

His brother-in-law-to-be's head snapped up in the back, where he was working on pulling bullets out of John Casey's legs. "Chuck?"

Devin stood up and darted to the front of the aircraft. Chuck had unbuckled his seatbelt and engaged the autopilot. He was trying to get Sarah out of her seat.

"Jesus Christ," Devin breathed, when he saw the amount of blood in Sarah's lap. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. "Chuck, take this, find where she's bleeding from – it looks like the right hand side of her stomach – and hold this against it."

Chuck lifted up Sarah's shirt, and there it was – an ugly, gaping gunshot wound. Chuck held Devin's shirt against the wound, and Devin gently lifted Sarah out of the seat, his arms under her arms and wrapped around her chest.

"Grab her legs," Devin ordered. Chuck wrapped Sarah's knees under one arm, keeping the shirt pressed to her stomach with the other hand. Between them, the two men carried her to the back of the aircraft.

After laying Sarah on the floor in the aisle, Devin cut her shirt off, exposing her shoulder and stomach wounds. "Get me a diagnostic unit," he ordered. Ellie grabbed it for him. He set it on a seat next to Sarah, and attached the leads to her chest and finger. Casey had propped himself up on his elbows, a worried look on his face.

"Pulse is thready… blood pressure is incredibly low," Devin announced. "Chuck, grab me an IV pole. Ellie, get me two plasmas and one O neg."

Chuck grabbed the IV pole. Devin slid a catheter into the vein behind Sarah's elbow, and attached the line to the blood units. "She's bleeding out really fast," he said worriedly. "We've only got so much blood."

Devin turned to look at Chuck. "Chuck, we've got to get this aircraft on the ground, soon, or Sarah's not going to make it."

"Where are we headed?" Casey asked.

"Bakersfield," Chuck replied. "Sarah said she had contacts there."

"Where are we right now?"

"Uh, last check, we were over Monument Valley in Arizona."

Casey's eyes brightened, an idea coming to him.

"Change the autopilot settings to head us toward Flagstaff, Arizona," he ordered. "Then get on frequency 121.5 and declare an in-flight emergency. When Pulliam Airport responds, ask them to pass a message to Ulysses Howard – a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties."

Chuck gave Casey a look like he might've given a small child. "A 'terrifying space monkey'?"

"It's code, Bartowski. Just do it!"

Chuck scrambled back up to the cockpit. He flipped the transponder over to 7700, turned the radio to Guard, and said, "Mayday, mayday, this is Carlito Lear 1, declaring an in-flight emergency. Repeat, this is Carlito Lear 1, declaring an in-flight emergency."

"Carlito Lear 1, this is Albuquerque Center. Please state your situation."

"Albuquerque Center, this is Carlito Lear 1. I am near Flagstaff, Arizona. Request to be transferred to Pulliam Airport."

"Carlito Lear 1, copy. We are handing you over to Pulliam Airport at this time."

"Carlito Lear 1, this is Flagstaff Pulliam Airport. How copy?"

"Pulliam Airport, this is Carlito Lear 1. Please alert Ulysses Howard that a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties."

There was silence for a moment. Then a different voice came on the radio. "Carlito Lear 1, this is Pulliam. Please repeat that last."

"I repeat, a terrifying space monkey is approaching with casualties."

Silence again. Then the voice spoke. "Carlito Lear 1, this is Pulliam. You are cleared for immediate landing. Please change your transponder to 4200 and lock on to our auto-approach beacon."

Chuck complied. Not too long after that, he could see the outskirts of a small town. Then, he saw a break in the towering pine trees, with a dimly lit gray strip running through the forest.

"Pulliam Airport, this is Carlito Lear 1, I have visual."

"Carlito Lear 1, you may land at your leisure."

The Lear's auto-approach system was more than adequate to bring the airplane swooping in over the trees and place it on the runway, but Chuck kept his hands on the yoke, just in case. As soon as the tires bit into the runway, he pressed his feet onto the toe brakes and yanked the throttles back to the thrust-reverse stop.

The plane slowed to automobile speed with more than half the runway left. Chuck coasted to the next taxiway turnoff, and turned left, exiting the runway. As he coasted to a stop in the parking area, two ambulances came roaring up to the aircraft.

By the time Chuck secured the aircraft, Devin had opened the door and dropped the airstair. "I've got two gunshot victims!" he was shouting to the paramedics running toward the plane. "One has experienced heavy blood loss, and has deep tissue and organ lacerations to the abdomen!"

The paramedics charged up the stairs with gurneys and oxygen. They loaded Casey onto one, over his protests, and Sarah onto the other. Devin got in the ambulance with Sarah, Ellie with Casey, and Chuck was left standing by himself on the tarmac.

A wiry Latino man with glasses and graying hair walked up to Chuck. "I'm Ulysses Howard," he introduced himself.

"Chuck Bartowski," Chuck replied, extending his hand.

"Really," Howard said, his eyes widening. "The Human Intersect?"

"How… how…" Chuck's mouth opened and shut, kind of like a beached fish.

"I'm NSA," Howard replied. "Well, deep-cover NSA. I work directly for Major Casey – I'm his contact in Arizona should he ever need help here."

"I… see…"

"Yeah, he had to keep me in the loop regarding you. Given that we're essentially California's next-door neighbor, I had need to know. That, and I used to be part of the project that developed the Intersect."

Chuck just nodded. "So… what was the bit about terrifying space monkeys?"

Howard cocked his head. "You've never seen _Firefly_?"

Chuck's jaw dropped. "Oh, of course!" He smacked himself in the forehead. "There's my nerd cred, all shot to hell."

"Yeah," Howard laughed. "Believe it or not, Casey's a huge fan. Thinks he looks like Adam Baldwin – guy who plays Jayne. I think he's full of it.

"Anyway," Howard continued, "I've got a car out front that you're welcome to borrow. You probably want to get up to Flagstaff Medical Center with them."

"Yeah," Chuck replied, a renewed sense of urgency in his voice. "But I need directions."

Howard smiled. "Just how good are you at being the Intersect?"

"Pretty good," Chuck said. "I scored high on subliminal encoding at Stanford."

Howard nodded. "Alright. Turn left out of the airport. Right at I-17. I-17 becomes Milton, which becomes Route 66. Stay on Route 66 to San Francisco Street. Turn left. Go north. Flagstaff Medical Center's on the left-hand side."

Chuck looked at him, and thought for a moment. "Got it."

Howard laughed incredulously. "You're unbelievable, kid. No wonder the government's such a huge fan."

Chuck nodded. "Thanks… I think."

"No problem. Here's the keys – it's the green Crown Vic out front."

Five minutes later, Chuck walked around the front of the small terminal building to see what was clearly a retired Forest Service car. "Damn, that's an ugly car," he breathed.

He got in and turned the key in the ignition. The V-8 motor roared to life. As Chuck put the Crown Vic in gear, he laughed at the fact that when he last put a vehicle in gear – less than three hours ago – the circumstances were so very different.

The streets of Flagstaff were fairly deserted at this time of night – until he got to San Francisco Street. As he drove up the street, it became immediately evident that he was in a college town. However, it was only a couple blocks till he was past the "party" area, and then, there was the hospital.

He entered through the lobby, and said he was looking for a Sarah Walker and a John Casey. He was directed to another wing.

When he got there, he discovered Ellie waiting for him. Wordlessly, she stood up, and embraced him. He could feel her starting to cry. "I was so worried about you," she whispered. "I kidnapped the director of the NSA to find you…"

Chuck's eyes went wide, and he pulled back. "You did WHAT?!"

"I was working with Casey and Sarah," she said. "I kidnapped General Beckman."

Chuck couldn't help it. He started laughing. "That is fantastic," he choked out, bending over to catch his breath. "She's going to hate our entire family."

Then a sobering thought hit him. "Sarah and Casey," he said. "What about them?"

"Casey's alright," Ellie replied. "Both his legs are going to be in casts for awhile, but he's okay.

"Sarah, on the other hand… Chuck, she lost a lot of blood. That bullet to her stomach caused a huge amount of damage. Devin's still in there with her – they've been in surgery since the moment we came in the door."

Chuck sat down wearily in one of the lobby chairs. Just like any other hospital in the world – a vinyl covered chair, cold, and uncomfortable. Ellie sat down next to him, and hugged him.

Chuck raised his hands to his face, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, began to cry.

* * *

It was just after midnight when Devin came into the lobby. He looked exhausted. It was clear that he'd just stepped out of the shower, and he had ditched his blood soaked t-shirt and jeans for a clean set of scrubs.

But the smile on his face spoke volumes.

Chuck jumped up as soon as Devin walked in. He quickly crossed the room to Devin. "How is she?" he asked.

"She's an incredibly strong woman, my man," Devin replied. "She lost her appendix – which, no great loss, that. Aside from that, she had some muscle and tissue damage, and we had to reconnect a few veins and arteries – that was what caused all the blood loss. The shot to her shoulder broke her collarbone, but she should be okay. She's stable now, but we're not going to try to wake her for a few hours."

Chuck closed his eyes and blew out his breath. "So, she's going to be out for awhile?"

Devin nodded.

"Okay. Ellie, did she bring her grey sweater with her?"

"I think so," Chuck's sister replied. "In fact, yeah, because she took it off and stuck it in an overhead compartment."

Chuck was already on his way out the door.

* * *

She slowly and painfully came to wakefulness. It was a lot like seventy-two hours before, except this time, in addition to feeling completely hung over, she was in a world of pain as well.

As her eyes slowly opened, she could see sunlight peeking in between the slats on the blinds over the window. Looking down, she also saw that she had been draped in her grey sweater – that explained why she was actually warm; she could never remember having ever woken up, still warm, in a hospital bed before.

She looked back up, and saw Chuck, sitting in a chair past the foot of the bed. He was reading a magazine, but he looked to be pretty close to dozing off. She tried to talk, but nothing came out.

Concentrating, she made her mouth moisten just a little, licked her lips, and tried again. "Chuck," she whispered.

His head snapped up, and his face brightened when he saw that she was awake.

"Hey," he said softly. He snagged a bottle of water with a squeeze tube attached, which he put in her left hand. She slowly lifted it to her mouth and drank like she'd never see water again.

"That's a whole lot better," she said quietly after having her fill. "How long was I out for?"

"It's actually only been about twelve hours," Chuck replied. "You passed out in the airplane just before 8:00 PM yesterday, and it's about 7:45 local time."

Sarah looked around. She didn't recognize the hospital. "Where are we?"

"Flagstaff, Arizona," was the answer. "Devin basically said that if we didn't get you on the ground, post haste, you were going to die. Casey, fortunately, has a contact in Flagstaff, and so we landed here."

"Casey," she gasped, remembering that he had been shot. "How's he doing?"

"Hell of a lot better than you, Walker!" was the cringe-inducing loud answer, as Casey rolled into the room in a wheelchair. Just as suddenly, though, his wheelchair was grabbed by Captain Awesome and pulled back out of the room.

"Sorry about that," Devin said, sticking his head into the room. "We'll leave you folks in peace."

He closed the door behind him. Sarah smiled and shook her head – then immediately regretted it, as her right shoulder shifted and shot pain through her upper body.

"Owwww…" she moaned.

Chuck grabbed her good hand. "Just don't move," he suggested.

"Thanks, smartass," she whispered, looking up at him.

He looked back down at her for a long moment. Then, almost as if inviting him, she closed her eyes. Chuck leaned down and kissed her, softly. It lasted for a very long moment, and when the kiss broke, he didn't move – he left his forehead resting gently on hers.

"Chuck…" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. In fact, she was silent for so long that he was afraid she'd fallen back asleep. But then…

"I love you…"


	9. Perfection Will Come

_Good morning __Vietnam... er, I mean__ readers!_

_So, it seems that a number of people over at Television Without Pity are wondering where the hell I am, how I know what's going on in the Chuck Fanfiction forum, and why I'm being a lurker._

_Let's just put it this way – it's a long story. If you'd like the explanation, send me a private message here on FanFiction, tell me who you are on TWoP, and I'll be happy to fill you in._

_And now, with no further ado… on with the story!_

* * *

"Chuck…" Sarah whispered. 

"Yeah?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. In fact, she was silent for so long that he was afraid she'd fallen back asleep. But then…

"I love you…"

Chuck's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, dreaming, or what. But when he opened his eyes, he found her eyes open, looking at him, piercing into him. Asking him to answer. Begging him.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, and prepared himself to say something he hadn't said for years. Something he'd feared ever saying again. Something he'd last said to a woman who betrayed him and turned to his former best friend.

Then it occurred to him – the implicit irony of who the last person Sarah had said "I love you" to would have been. The same person Jill had turned to.

He closed his eyes again – and he swore that a little devil appeared on one shoulder, and a little angel on the other. "Tell her," the devil hissed. "Do it to get back at Bryce. He stole your life, he stole your girlfriend – repay the favor!"

"Don't you dare," the angel said. "If you're going to tell her, tell her because you actually feel that way. Which you know you do. You have since the first time you set eyes on her. Since before you knew she was an agent. Since before you knew her connection to Bryce. Say the words, Chuck. Be a man."

When he reopened his eyes, he saw that Sarah's were beginning to fill with tears – he had just stood there, saying nothing for almost a minute, and putting that on top of her pain, her exhaustion, the emotional roller-coaster she'd been on the last few days, it was just too much.

Chuck's eyes went wide with horror. Quickly, he grabbed her hand again, and crouched down by her bed. "Sarah… Sarah Walker, I don't care if that's your real name or not, I love you so much… I love you more than words can describe."

And it was as if a switch had been flipped. The expression on her face went immediately from one of pain and rejection to one of joy and acceptance. He reached his right arm behind her back, and careful not to jostle her right hand side, drew her to him and held her for what seemed like forever.

Finally, she whispered something in his ear. He drew back. "What?"

"That's my real name," she replied. "But that's not how you know me. That's not how I want you to know me. That's not even how I know myself anymore."

Chuck was absolutely stunned. This gesture, as small as it may have been to Sarah, seemed so intimate to him, more intimate than anything he'd ever before experienced.

He was about to say something when the door opened. The look on Sarah's face changed to one of resignation and a little bit of fear. Chuck stood up and turned around –

To see General Beckman and Director Graham standing by the door, Ellie and Devin behind them, with Casey in his wheelchair. Beckman had four envelopes in her hand.

Nobody spoke for a very long moment. Finally, General Beckman said, "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that, Bartowski?"

Chuck nodded his head slightly.

"I will say this for you," she continued. "Outside of the President's Protection Detail, I have never seen a group of people so dedicated to one individual person as the four in this room."

Chuck smiled. "I think they're all a little bit crazy, General."

Surprisingly, General Beckman's face relaxed a little, a small smile appearing on her face as well. "I can't argue with that one, Bartowski."

She handed him the envelopes. "You apparently have fans in high places," she said. "That, and a certain agent of mine by the name of Ulysses Howard has been quite the busy bee since you arrived here."

Chuck opened the first envelope. He removed a piece of heavy cotton-base paper and unfolded it. The seal of the President of the United States was in the header.

_To Whom It May Concern_, the letter read.

_Be it known that Dr. Eleanor Fae Bartowski has committed a number of offenses, both petty and felonious, against the United States of America, during the period of March 1, 2008, to March 4, 2008. These include, but are not limited to, theft of United States government property, impersonating an employee of the General Services Administration, failure to yield to the authority of the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, and most egregiously, kidnapping the director of the National Security Agency._

_However, it is understood that these offenses were committed not of malice aforethought, but rather of a desire to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitutional rights of a citizen of the United States of America._

_Therefore, I, George W. Bush, President of the United States, pursuant to the pardon power conferred upon me by Article II, Section 2, of the Constitution, have granted and by these presents do grant a full, free, and absolute pardon unto Eleanor Bartowski for all offenses against the United States which she, Eleanor Bartowski, has committed or may have committed or taken part in during the period from March 1, 2008, through March 4, 2008._

_In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this fourth day of March, in the year of our Lord two thousand and eight, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-second._

_George Walker Bush_

_President of the United States of America_

The other envelopes held similar letters for Devin, Casey, and Sarah, although Devin's only crime was failure to yield to the authority of the L.A. Sheriff, whereas Casey and Sarah's letters (Sarah's in her real name) had a laundry list of charges as long as Chuck's arm. But that was okay, because the President himself had cleared them of everything.

Chuck handed the envelopes to the appropriate people. Casey opened his and a huge grin appeared on his face. "A letter of pardon, for me, signed by President Bush," he announced. "I do believe I will frame this."

"The hell you will, Casey," General Beckman warned him. "That will never see the light of day again, is that clear?"

Casey got a grumpy look on his face, but said, "Yes, ma'am," and nothing more.

Ellie, on the other hand, read over hers, and said, "There's no way the President wrote this. It sounds too intelligent."

Beckman and Graham both shot her dirty looks, Devin rolled his eyes, Sarah smiled slightly, and Chuck could've sworn that Casey growled. "My sister, the unabashed liberal," Chuck laughed.

Director Graham also held an envelope, which he handed to Chuck. "What's this?" Chuck asked, taking the envelope and opening it.

The paper in this one bore the letterhead of the Central Intelligence Agency. It was a formal letter of apology from Director Graham, on behalf of the CIA, for the treatment that Chuck had received while at the facility in Moab.

Chuck read over the letter, then looked up at Graham with a guarded expression on his face. He didn't say anything for a while, but finally, he spoke.

"Director… I'm sorry about your balls."

General Beckman actually laughed. She laughed out loud, which shocked Chuck more than the Tasers he'd been shot with in Utah. Director Graham merely raised an eyebrow, while the other four in the room looked confused.

Casey asked the unspoken question. "Uh, Bartowski… what the hell are you talking about?"

"His first day in the facility, Chuck got loose," General Beckman explained. "He encountered Director Graham in a hallway and kicked him in the crotch."

Devin got a pained look on his face. Ellie and Sarah exchanged a look of shock, while Casey rolled his wheelchair across the room to Chuck and stuck out his hand.

"EXCELLENT work, Bartowski. Well done."

"I see there continues to be no love lost between our agencies," General Beckman commented to Director Graham. Graham just shook his head, and then spoke again.

"Here's the deal," he started. "There's a lot that has to be done within both agencies to make this whole thing go away. It would be very helpful if the two of you" – he pointed to Casey and Sarah – "just disappeared for a little while. Fortunately, it's quite clear that you, Major Casey, and ESPECIALLY you, Agent Walker, are going to need an extended leave for recuperation.

"Bartowski will have a protection team from the Secret Service; however, they will be in a passive role, not an active one. Neither Bartowski nor either of you will participate in any active missions unless he flashes on something that we determine requires immediate attention."

"And let me make something very clear," General Beckman added. "If either of you ever again so thoroughly disobeys orders and violates regulations as you have these last two days, you will become part of the 91,000 homeless in Los Angeles. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Casey replied.

"Understood," Sarah said.

"Very good," General Beckman said. "Now, though I do so hate to displace all of you, I would like to speak to Agent Walker for a moment, in private."

There was a chorus of "Yes, ma'am"s, and everybody slowly filed out of the room, Director Graham shutting the door behind him as he went.

General Beckman stood at the end of Sarah's bed and looked down at her. "Agent Walker," she began, "your actions of the last few days have been so unconscionable and inexcusable that I don't even know where to begin."

Sarah nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I know."

"I do not, I cannot, I will not ever condone the actions you have taken in the last seventy-two hours," General Beckman continued. "As a national intelligence officer, I am disgusted and offended that you would utterly disregard your duties and your training in the fashion you have since Saturday."

Sarah remained quiet, but her mouth had tightened to a hard line.

General Beckman took a breath. "However.

"As one woman speaking to another, I fully understand and appreciate your motivations. Were I to discover that the man I loved was in such a situation, and if I had the resources and abilities to help him, I almost certainly would."

Sarah's jaw unclenched, and a look of near-disbelief painted itself on her face. "Wait… how did you know?" she asked. "The Rohypnol…"

"First of all, Agent Walker, I didn't need you to tell me. It was quite evident. However, as regards the Rohypnol, while I have fuzzy memories of most of yesterday, I do very clearly remember you telling me, 'I made the mistake of falling in love', as you were leaving my bedroom on Sunday evening.

"Quite frankly, Director Graham wanted to pull you off of the Intersect assignment and stick you in some godforsaken posting in Zanzibar or something like that. However, I persuaded him that Mr. Bartowski would probably be even better protected if the woman who loved him was watching out for his well-being."

Sarah nodded.

"Enjoy your time off, Agent Walker. Try not to get into too much trouble. There are indicators in the middle east that tell us we're probably going to need the Intersect more than ever before too long."

* * *

Chuck awoke slowly, the shaft of light playing across his face. He tried to burrow under the covers to block out the offending sunlight, but to no avail, as an agent of true evil pulled the comforter off of his head. 

"Good morning, sunshine," Sarah said with a laugh. "Happy fourth of July, oh America's greatest intelligence asset."

"America's greatest intelligence asset wants to SLEEP," he grumbled.

"Not a chance!" she replied with a giggle, starting to tickle him.

"GAH!" he shouted, trying to roll away, and succeeding merely in rolling directly off the side of the bed, tangled in the duvet.

His only consolation was that Sarah was so entangled in the duvet that she came rolling off the bed with him, landing fairly softly on top of him. He had no complaints about that. He had come to live for her touch, the soft feel of her skin against his, the unevenness of the fading scars on her shoulder and abdomen.

He loved the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips against his, the way she looked into his eyes. He especially loved it when she teased him, like she was doing right now.

"Well, I think that since you're such a national treasure, and I'm a national intelligence officer, we really should celebrate our country's freedom in an… EXPLOSIVE fashion," she said, a naughty undertone to her voice, as she shifted her weight further down his body.

"I fully agree," Chuck replied, a gasp slipping out at the end of his sentence.

Not too long after that – Chuck was, after all, a man, and not a machine – Sarah was in the shower, and Chuck was on the balcony of their hotel room. He had no idea how she'd gotten the CIA to splurge for an ocean view hotel room in San Diego for the Fourth of July, but he wasn't complaining. He enjoyed watching the ships come in to the bay… although, that one…

A blur of images flew by in his mind – a case of Stinger missiles, a briefcase full of cash, blueprints of the MV _Pacific Voyager_, a mugshot of a rather unhappy looking Argentinean, and… a piece of carrot cake.

His eyes went wide, and he shook his head. "Good Lord!" he gasped. "They're going to try to get those missiles to a sleeper cell in San Diego and shoot down aircraft at MCAS Miramar!"

Chuck ran back into the hotel room and walked into the bathroom without knocking.

"Sarah!" he said, as he entered.

She stuck her head out of the shower, a playful grin on her face. "Are you ready for round two – Chuck? What is it?"

"I just flashed on a ship in the harbor," he replied. "Stinger missiles on board, headed for a sleeper cell here in the city."

Sarah's eyes went wide. She shut off the shower, reached out, and grabbed a towel. She wrapped it around herself and stepped out of the shower.

"Alright, give Casey a call. I'll get ready as quick as I can. We're going to probably need to head down and intercept the shipment."

She turned and looked at him. "And Chuck, please. I don't want you to get hurt. Would you please, just this once…"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll stay in the car."

_THE END… perhaps?_


End file.
